


Transformers: Condemnation

by vainvaihe



Series: Defection AU [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Defection AU, Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I can’t stop myself from dunking on him, Megatron and Soundwave Amica, Mentions of Cybertron’s Caste System, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prowl Bashing, Serious Robot Politics, Single Dad Soundwave, Trauma, depiction of panic attacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-11 09:34:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17444363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vainvaihe/pseuds/vainvaihe
Summary: In which Soundwave decides to leave the Decepticons, and brings the cause with him.Soundwave Defects AU. Vaguely IDW/G1. Updates every Wednesday!Gift for the Cuck Rung Server.





	1. Counting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soundwave has a nice morning, for the most part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some chapter specific warnings: Soundwave is triggered into a flashback that sends him into a panic, and there is mentions of starvation. 
> 
> Thank you to digitivortex for being the best editor on the planet - they’re the reason this chapter is comprehensible.

Soundwave makes his way down the halls of the Nemesis quickly and efficiently, as he has every single Orn since the Decepticon fleet arrived on Earth. His chassis is lighter than normal, his Cassettes all having found themselves occupied by either a patrol or other miscellaneous duties.

Soundwave is at peace.  
  
Mostly.  
  
Regardless of Soundwave’s good mood, war is still war, and the responsibilities that come with it are ever present. His notifications are packed with messages from the Energon mines that require Megatron’s command, and Soundwave finds himself playing a messenger bot once again.

His pedes echo in the hallways, which are pleasantly empty for a normally busy part of the cycle.  
  
Soundwave’s audials suddenly ring as he hears a telltale seeker-screech come from down the hall.  
  
Nevermind.  
  
He turns the corner to find Skywarp being pinned to the floor by Thundercracker, which to Soundwave, appears rather painful for the seekers’ wings.  
  
Soundwave would cringe in sympathy, if it weren’t Skywarp being sat on.  
  
“Get off!” Skywarp whines, struggling in Thundercracker’s hold.

His trinemate, who Soundwave usually finds to be the more… responsible of the two, is holding Skywarp’s arm behind his back, his free arm holding a dented cube of high grade.

“Stop warping with my stuff!” Thundercracker snarls, pulling harder.

Skywarp squeals.

“Stop leaving it out!”

Soundwave stifles a sigh.  
  
“Thundercracker: Will Cease,” Soundwave says warningly, approaching the two.  
  
Thundercracker instantly drops his hold on Skywarp, the latter squawking as he hits the floor face-first.  
  
“He started it,” says Thundercracker.  
  
“Like Unicron I did!” Skywarp shrieks, lifting himself off the floor and leaping at his trine-mate.  
  
Soundwave actually does sigh this time.  
  
As Skywarp begins to chase Thundercracker down the hall like a demented sparkling, Soundwave opens up a comm-line that he usually goes out of his way to avoid.

‘Starscream?’ he comms.

He gets no response.  
  
Soundwave adds the Urgent tag onto the comm-line and tries again.

‘Starscream.’

The line goes through.

‘What. Do. You. Want,’ growls Starscream, voice thick.

Wonderful. It seems as though he’s just awoken Starscream from recharge.  
  
Soundwave’s good mood instantly vanishes.

‘Trine: Restless and Disruptive. Soundwave: Requests that Trine leader keep them in line.’

 Soundwave can hear Starscream rubbing between his optics.

‘Fine,’ he says, dropping the line.  
  
Soundwave refrains from rolling his optics.  
  
Seekers.

Rowdy trine no longer his problem, Soundwave continues on his way to the control room.

When he finally reaches the room, he knocks softly and waits for a response.  
  
“Come in,” rumbles Megatron’s deep timbre.  
  
Soundwave opens the door to find Megatron sitting casually in his Captain’s chair, reading a datapad.  
  
“Soundwave: Interrupting?” he asks, tilting his helm.  
  
Megatron shuts off the datapad and slips it onto the side table.  
  
“No, I was simply... getting in some light reading,” he says. “Anything of importance, Soundwave?”  
  
“Affirmative,” says Soundwave, opening his flashing HUD. “Energon Mine: Has been discovered by Autobot Scout.”  
  
Megatron straightens.  
  
“Go on,” he commands.

“Forces: Unable to reach mine. Energon Stores: In jeopardy,” relays Soundwave, scanning through the multitude of reports.

They’re not up to standard, Soundwave decides. He’ll need to send out a memo on proper syntax at some point.

Megatron sits and absorbs the information for a moment, a thoughtful look on his face.

This is nearly a formality for them, at this point.

Soundwave has always been excellent at predicting his Amica’s moves before he himself even conceptualizes them. He expects him to send a fleet, probably including several seekers, to recover what they can before the full Autobot squadron arrives. It’s cyclical. Routine.

Megatron simply waves his hand.  
  
“Trigger the mine explosives,” he says blandly.  
  
Soundwave, had it not been for his impeccable control over himself, would have dropped his data pad.  
  
“Confirming: Megatron wishes to destroy Energon stores?”  
  
Megatron grunts.  
  
“We can’t afford the troops to fight an Autobot squadron at the moment, and I can’t have precious Energon slipping into Prime’s servos. Blow the damned thing up.”  
  
Soundwave is not often surprised. However, at this particular moment in time, he feels as though he’s been thrown in the the cold vacuum of space.  
To a point, this was a logical step for a commander to take. Sacrificing resources to spite another faction is a tried and true battle strategy. But, Soundwave thinks, to sacrifice such a resource at a time like this...

“Energon: Insufficient for following Breems,” Soundwave says, disbelieving. “Beneficial: For Decepticons to grab what Energon is possible.”  
  
“We won’t be able to get there soon enough to make it worth the effort,” Megatron insists.

“Megatron: Is not listening,” Soundwave says, glyphs giving away his frustration. “Energon: Insufficient to feed troops to function for substantial period without finding another Energon deposit.”

Soundwave double checks his math before sending him the Inventory calculation over their channel. The numbers are abysmal. They need the energon, and they need it immediately if they are to get through the time required to find and excavate a new area.

Megatron accepts the Inventory, and almost immediately shelves it.

“Reroute Energon stores to our higher officers then, and cut the Miner and Symbiote rations.”

Soundwave’s spark feels like it’s dropped out of his frame.

 

  
_“Cut the Miner rations,’ he hears._

_Soundwave’s fingers are worked down to the frame and he sways on his pedes. He’s exhausted, pushed far beyond a state he even thought possible of himself._

_Their rations have already been cut, and cut, and cut again. His optics are near blind from hunger._

_He gets a ping from his chassis. ‘_ _ Ssh _ _,’ he pings back._

_“If you cut them any further, you’re gonna end up sending some of these fraggers to the morgue,” says some messenger mech._

_Soundwave doesn’t need to look at him to know he’s gleaming. Shiny. Relaxed._ **_Well Fed._**

 

 “Rations: Would require 85% cut to make up for the loss,” Soundwave argues. “Miners and Symbiotes cannot survive comfortably on 15%.”

 _“_ Then they can survive _uncomfortably_ ,” Megatron growls. His glyphs almost scream _drop it._ “I don’t care what you have to do, just make it work.” 

 

_Who cares?” asks the Supervisor, laughing. “There’s always more where they came from.”_

 

Megatron waves his hand in dismissal and picks up his data pad, returning to his reading.  
  
Soundwave, the Decepticon third, a Gladiator of Kaon, dismissed with a wave of the hand.

He stalks down the hallway, numbly. His pedesteps are uncomfortably loud in the emptiness of the hall.

 

_One. Two. Three. Four. Five._

_He flexes his servo._

_He gets another ping from his chassis._

 

He makes his way into his shared habsuite and pulls out his rations from the closet. He splits what remains of them methodically into 5 equal parts. He recounts them all. It’s not enough.

 

_One. Two. Three. Four. Five._

_He sends a ping back. ‘_ _ Ssh. They’re going to hear.’ _

 

He lifts his berth with one servo and removes a heavy box from under the frame with the other. It’s almost rusted shut with age. He drops the berth and lays the box on top, opening it with a _click_ and laying out the contents. A few dusty vials of Medical grade, the last of his precious few Energon candies, a few Low-Grade cubes. He splits those into 5 as well. He recalculates the numbers.

It’s not going to be enough.

_One. Two. Three. Four. Five._

_He gets a more urgent ping._

_‘ Please be quiet,’ _ _he begs._

 

Soundwave starts to intake heavily. His chassis aches with a phantom pain.

 

_One. Two. Three. Four. Fi-_

_‘ Hungry_ _,’ pings a small voice. ‘_ _ Hurt _ _.’_

_“Do you… hear that?” Asks the messenger bot._

_Energon rushes noisily through his helm._

 

‘Cassette Status,’ Soundwave sends over his private comm line, gripping his berthposts. The floor moves under his pedes. His gyro systems must be malfunctioning.

It’s quiet for a few moments.  
  
A yawn crackles over the line.  
  
‘Me n’ Rumble are on patrol, boss,’ says Frenzy, lazily. Soundwave can hear organic birds singing in the background. ‘Nothing to report.’

Rumble makes an affirmative hum to confirm.

_One. Two._

‘Same here,’ says Laserbeak. 

_Three._

‘I’m on break,’ chirps Buzzsaw.  
  
_Four._

The line is quiet for a few moments.  
  
‘Ravage,” says Soundwave, poorly concealed worry in his voice.  
  
Nothing.

He sends a ping to Ravage. Privately this time.

‘Report.’

Still nothing.

‘Designation: Ravage,” he says.

 

The comm crackles to life.

‘...I’m. Yeah,’ yawns Ravage. ‘Present.’

_Five._

Soundwave turns off the comm, his intakes erratic and laboured. Relief washes over him like solvent.

Everything is fine.

‘Everything okay, boss?’ asks Rumble.

Soundwave shakes his head. It makes the spinning worse.

‘Affirmative,’ he says, roughly.

He hears the clicks of four comms being turned off.

He waits for the fifth.

‘...I just remembered I have a Motormouse in our room with my name on it,” says Ravage, lying. ‘I’ll be there in a click.’

Soundwave attempts to straighten up, unclenching one servo from the berthpost.

‘Ravage: Will stay where they are,’ says Soundwave sharply.  
  
‘Oh what was that? I think you’re-‘

He hears Ravage scratching his paws over his comm, giving a poor imitation of signal interference.

-breaking up,’ he finishes. The line drops.

Soundwave turns off his comm. His whole frame shakes.

He counts the rations again.  
  
And again.

And again.

Before the warning can even make its way to his HUD, Soundwave’s leg joints buckle, sending him tumbling to the floor.

As darkness overwhelms him, he hears the telltale click of the habsuite door opening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter Soon? I’m a busy bee, but I really want to make this a long fic so ;) let me know what you think in the comments.


	2. Favours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soundwave comes to some realizations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The working title for this chapter was “Soundwave’s Declassified Defector Survival Guide.”
> 
> **strums guitar** Thank you once again to Digivortex, my wonderful editor. The chapter would not exist without them.
> 
> I posted this a couple hours early cause I’ll be swamped with work tomorrow :0 Happy Wednesday!

Soundwave’s systems come online one by one.  
  
He hears the familiar purr of Ravage’s engine close by. Soundwave sends out his field curiously, probing around for his Cassette.

The second his field touches Ravages he can feel his displeasure and fear, all coiled up into a ball of worry. He’s curled into Soundwave’s side, warm and comforting in comparison to the cold floor of the habsuite.

Soundwave’s optics come online, activating to see Ravage looking at him with an unreadable expression. Soundwave sends a wordless apology into his field and places his servos on the floor in an attempt to rise.

He only manages to lift himself a few inches before his servos collapse under the strain, slamming his back into the floor with a reverberating clang.

How embarrassing.

Ravage sighs, shaking his helm.

“Foolish carrier,” he chastises, laying his muzzle on Soundwave’s numb legs. “You overwhelmed your systems.”

He curls closer as Soundwave slides his aching frame into a slight prop against the berth. He intakes slightly with the effort, and Ravage adjusts to accommodate him.

Soundwave sends gratitude over his field.

Ravage lifts his paw and rolls one of the fallen tubes of Medical grade across the floor.

“You should have some.”

Soundwave is suddenly hit with overwhelming nausea, his HUD flashing with threats of a system purge. He rolls it away.

Ravage winces as the vial disappears under the berth.

“That bad, huh?”

Soundwave tries to respond, but his vocalizer merely spits out static.

Ravage cuddles closer.

“Take your time,” he says, patiently. “I’m not on patrol for another Breem.”  
  
Soundwave strokes the warm plating of Ravage’s back, grateful for the comfort as he attempts to calibrate his vocal components.

With the medical grade now out of sight, Soundwave’s HUD warnings slowly become less and less insistent. He focuses on his intake.

In. Out. In. Out.

His pedes take a few minutes to come online, followed by his crural joints and lower leg panels. He flexes them slowly, pins and needles stabbing painfully through the plating and into his struts. He needs to maintain himself better, he thinks.

In. Out.

He restarts his vocal drive and patiently waits for it to come online.

“Soundwave: Will not allow that to happen again,” he declares, once he is able.

Ravage clicks his tongue and pats Soundwave’s leg comfortingly.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” asserts Ravage, motor purring softly. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”  
  
Soundwave is struck with guilt. He wishes it were something Ravage did not have to see at all.

Ravage pokes him.

“You’re making that face again,” He says. “Stop thinking so hard. You’ll pull something.”

“Soundwave: Is wearing a visor and mask,” he says.

“You know what I mean,” Ravage says pointedly.

Soundwave looks away. Ravage has always been far too good at reading him.

Regardless, there’s no time to feel guilty. He needs to think. He can’t stay, he knows, not with Megatron at the helm, but leaving the cause could have disastrous effects on his Symbiotes’ well-being. Either way, a crisis of Energon lay ahead of them, and his Symbiotes would go hungry.

Unless...

“Soundwave: Has question for Ravage.”  
  
Ravage yawns, popping his joints in a deep stretch.

“Mmm?”

Soundwave takes a moment to gather his thoughts.

“Ravage: Will take care of his fellow Cassettes, no matter what happens to Carrier?” he asks carefully.

Ravage bristles regardless.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” warns Ravage, sitting upright. “Where’s this coming from?”  
  
Soundwave sighs.

“Soundwave: Witnessed Megatron’s disappointing leadership. Decepticon Base: Will become unsafe for Cassettes in the next two Breems.”

Soundwave rubs his wrist joints nervously. He quickly scans the room for bugs, relieved and assured to find none.

Not that there would be any. He _is_ the spymaster, after all.

He locks the Habsuite door remotely anyway.

“Soundwave... Considering insubordination,” he whispers.  
  
“Oh Primus,” says Ravage, furious, leaping to his pedes. “Did Megatron threaten you? Hit you? I’ll bite his fragging arm off if-“  
  
“No,” Soundwave says sharply, optics widening in shock.  “No. Megatron: Would not.” 

Ravage leans back, relieved but no longer relaxed.

“Doesn’t stop him from taking a hit at Screamer every time he so much as steps a pede out of line,” scoffs Ravage. “Don’t get pissy at me for being worried.”  
  
An uneasy silence falls in the habsuite.

“Megatron: Let himself become Decepticon figurehead,” says Soundwave quietly. “Megatron: No longer Megatronus of Tarn. Has forgotten the plight of the Decepticons.”  
  
“I could have told you that,” Ravage says, flicking his tail.

“Soundwave: has been willfully ignorant,” Soundwave agrees. “Megatron: Has put Cassettes in danger for petty win. Ignored Soundwave’s counsel.”

Ravage hears the hurt in his voice and nods sympathetically.

“‘Peace Through Tyranny’ indeed,” he murmurs unkindly.

Soundwave narrows his optics.

“Ravage: Knows that is not the Decepticon creed.”  
  
“It might as well be!“ Ravage growls, scratching the floor with his claws. “Tell me you don’t see it - the way he treats the miners, the little “incidents” he keeps having with Screamer, the primus damned D-“

“-Cause: Has been warped,” Soundwave concedes, lifting himself off the floor.

His frame creaks as he rises to the berth, grabbing a few of the fallen rations as he does.

“Megatron: Volatile. Cassette Safety: In jeopardy.” He pats his chassis softly. “Soundwave: Has decided it is time to act.”

Ravage’s optics go wide.

“You’re talking about treason,” he whispers, his whole body tense like a live wire. “Carrier, we can’t-“  
  
Soundwave takes off his visor and mouth guard, and Ravage’s tank turns.  
  
There’s lubricant welling up in Soundwave’s optics.

“Soundwave: Followed Megatronus of Tarn out of the pits of Kaon. Stood by his side as Cybertron fell. Fought for him. Killed for him. Cared for him deeply,” Soundwave’s voice quivers. “Megatronus of Tarn: Died long ago. Megatron: A poor substitute.”

Ravage is stunned into silence. Soundwave takes a moment to intake, closing his optics.

“Soundwave: Must keep true Decepticon cause alive,” he declares. “Alone.”

Ravage keens deep in his throat like a wounded animal.

“Don’t say it like that,” he pleads. “You sound like you’re about to turn yourself into a martyr.”  
  
Soundwave opens his mouth to respond, but Ravage cuts him off.  
  
“-which,” he growls, “you’d better not even think about doing.”  
  
Soundwave closes his mouth.  
  
“Soundwave: Unsure of next course of action,” he admits. “Has not thought quite this far.”

Ravage stands up, shaking himself thoroughly.

“As much as I hate to say it,” says Ravage, “the Autobots...”  
  
“-are not an option,” Soundwave finishes. “Soundwave: Would rather be smelted.”

Ravage has to refrain from snickering at Soundwave’s complete and utter shutdown.

“What turns you off to the Autobots?” he asks rhetorically. “Is it the fact that their creed begins and ends with ‘not Decepticons’ or is it the blatant fundamentalism they carried over from the Senate?”

“Prowl,” replies Soundwave, deadpan.

Ravage snickers. Prime’s enforcer is enough of a pain in the aft to deal with if you’re an Autobot, nevermind a soon-to-be ex-Decepticon. He’s also far too suspicious to accept a genuine defection without ordering a thorough interrogation via Jazz, the paranoid bastard. Ravage had been interrogated by the two enough for a lifetime back during the Ark mission. Trapped in that energy net for hours, not knowing if his Carrier would be back for him-

He tries not think too hard about it.

“Okay, so no going to the Prime,” he agrees. “What can we do? We can’t survive without a group of some kind. No base, no backup- we’d be too vulnerable.”

Soundwave reclips his visor and mask, drawing himself to his full height.

Ravage suddenly knows that they’re going to be okay.

“Soundwave: Has an idea.”

————————

“This is a stupid idea, you know that, right?”  
  
Soundwave sits, swiping through the Decepticon database on a datapad, copying and deleting data at light speed.  
  
“Soundwave: Does not have stupid ideas.”  
  
Ravage snorts.  
  
“Trying to make your own faction 4 million years into a civil war seems like a stupid idea to me.”

Soundwave refrains from rolling his optics.

“Soundwave: Has been planning for a long time. Not necessarily for this situation, but... Created: Contingencies.”  
  
He pauses.  
  
“Would have appreciated more warning. Energon Mine: Has been ordered to explode in 2 Breems. Faction: Will have to be created in time to save Inventory. Soundwave: Will have to improvise.”

Ravage leaps up onto the berth.

“You know, I miss the old days where we just went around killing Senators and stopping your Amica from chasing down the Prime like a lovestruck bratling.” Ravage sighs wistfully, kneading the berth with his paws. “Now those - those were the days.”

“Senators: Extinguished,” Soundwave deadpans. “Ravage: Needs new hobby.”

He pulls out a second datapad and starts a list.  
  
“Required: Transport to move Energon. Homebase to store Energon. Mechpower to protect Energon.”  
  
“Good news,” Ravage says sarcastically. “We’re zero for three.”

Soundwave begins to mentally run through the options. The base will be easy enough to find. He knows plenty of areas near the coast that are both easily fortified and empty of humans and cybertronians. Mechpower-wise he only has his Cassettes, but he knows they’re capable enough to fend off grown mechs when cornered. Transportation is going to be the tough one.

Soundwave almost smacks his helm. He’s forgotten one very important thing.

“Soundwave: Must make several calls,” he says, quickly rising.

“Who in Primus’ name are you going to call?”

Soundwave closes all the datapads simultaneously and shoves them into his subspace.

“Soundwave: Has favours to cache.”  
  
————————  
  
‘Shockwave: Has Soundwave’s thanks,’ Soundwave comms as he stalks down the halls.

Ravage walks slightly ahead of him, surveying. The coast is clear.

‘Unnecessary,’ drones Shockwave. Soundwave can hear lab equipment running in the background. ‘Do not contact me again.’  
  
Soundwave almost sighs in relief. Shockwave is rude and emotionless, but he’s also a mech of his word.

‘Affirmative. Soundwave Out.’  
  
“Do I want to know what that was about?” asks Ravage, over his shoulder.

“Negative,” says Soundwave.

“Fair enough,” Ravage remarks.

They walk the rest of the way silently, heading directly to Soundwave’s office.

They duck inside, a series of monitors, keyboards and data sticks neatly tucked away in a room the size of a large closet.

“Should I inform the others of the plan?” Ravage asks, looking around.

“Negative,” repeats Soundwave. “Time: Of the essence. Suspicion: Undesirable.”  
  
Ravage nods. The twins, while surprisingly capable, aren’t exactly known for their subtlety.

Soundwave unlocks his desk drawer and begins to pull out datapad after datapad, until a sizeable stack begins to form on his desk top.

“Primus’ aft,” exclaims Ravage. “Do you really need that many datapads?”

“No,” Soundwave says.

Once the drawer is empty, Soundwave reaches down and pulls the entire bottom up and out with a practiced ease. Ravage’s eyes widen.

“Secret compartments?” he hisses, impressed. “You really have been planning.”

Soundwave reaches into the now uncovered drawer and pulls out a single thumb-drive.

“Soundwave: Always planning.” he says seriously.

Soundwave turns his attention to his station and begins to run through the list of possible areas. One of the mountains have been claimed by the Autobots, but Soundwave has yet to figure out which one. He crosses all the nearby mountains off the potential list regardless.

He checks the city areas, but deletes a whole section of metropolitan area once he checks the human population numbers. The cities are not private, which makes founding a faction undetected difficult.

Humans. So nosy.

An abandoned factory further north strikes Soundwave’s attention. It’s surrounded by space, easily defendable, it’s plenty far away from both the Nemesis and whichever mountain the Autobots are hiding in. Soundwave pulls up a map of the area.

It’s in a desert. Soundwave sighs.

He strikes it from the list. Desert biomes are horrendously detrimental to Cybertronian systems, the sand worming between joints in a most uncomfortable sensation. The last time Soundwave had been stationed in a sandy area, he had to deal with the gritty, processor-numbing feeling of the sand inside his components. While Laserbeak and Buzzsaw managed to avoid being anywhere close to the ground, Ravage and the twins had been miserable, stuck patrolling in boiling sand several feet deep. With no tools for finessed cleaning nearby, they had all ended up with T-Cogs full of sand.

Never again.

“Inquiry: How does Ravage feel about forests?” he asks, pulling up a map of Seattle.

“They’re good hiding places,” Ravage replies. “Especially for Laserbeak, Buzzsaw, and myself.”

Soundwave downloads a set of coordinates for a property in a nearby forest.

It will do.

“Soundwave: Has acquired Base,” he announces, saving the map directly to his drive.

“That was fast,” says Ravage. “What next?”

“Required: Ability to transport large amounts of Energon in a short amount of time,” Soundwave thinks aloud.

He replaces the drawer bottom and begins to load the unneeded datapads back in.

“Maybe we could steal some human equipment?” Ravage suggests. “Rumble and Frenzy could handle that with no problem.”

Soundwave merely shakes his helm.

“Speed: Insufficient. Time remaining: 21 earth hours. Recruit: Required.”

“The only bot with that kind of power is Skywarp,” Ravage says. “And everyone knows Skywarp is loyal to- Ah. Frag.”

He wrinkles his muzzle and groans. Soundwave nearly joins him.

“Affirmative,” he sighs, closing the drawer with a click. “Soundwave: Hates improvising.”

Elsewhere, Starscream sneezes.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder where this is going to go? :)


	3. Meanwhile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First Aid plays doctor. Soundwave and Ravage set their plans into motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Wednesday! This chapter was giving me a hard time but it pulled through. Also... I see all your theories in the comments ;). 
> 
> Thanks again to Digivortex (Best Editor 5ever)

**_20_ _Hours_ _until_ _Detonation_**

 

————————

 

“Remember to clamp the Artoid line.”

First Aid flinches, wrist deep into Hound’s abdominals, and accidentally pulls the severed line out of place. Again. He furrows his helm, trying very hard not to sigh in frustration.

“I did,” he replies.

Ratchet, who is sitting on one of the Medbay chairs, is looking down at his datapad, bored, as First Aid operates.

His shift ended. Four. Hours. Ago.

First Aid gets back into it. Pull here, clamp here-

“Dull the track chip as you enter the sector areas,” Ratchet reminds him, tapping his fingers on the pad rhythmically.

First Aid’s optic twitches. Hound, awake and watching the operation with morbid curiosity, winces sympathetically.

“Already done,” says First Aid, irritated.

Ratchet makes a humming noise, still engrossed in his datapad. First Aid has the urge to fling it directly into the incinerator.

Instead, he grabs the welder with an energon-stained hand, and begins to close up Hound’s wound.

“Section off the Triad Intake-“

“I know,” snaps First Aid. “I did it already.”

Ratchet finally looks up from his datapad, faceplate stern. 

“Check again.” 

He checks. He sees the Triad Intake lazily dribbling energon into Hound’s abdominal cavity, completely unsectioned from the area it’s supposed to be in.

Frag.

Ratchet takes his silence as confirmation. First Aid can almost feel his smug field from where he stands. Embarrassment burns hot under his mask and visor.

A rookie mistake.

He moves the Triad Intake so that it is no longer left unfettered in the abdominal area. Grabbing the welder once again, he begins to painstakingly fuse Hound’s wound close. Once finished, he turns it off and places it back on the tool tray.

“Alright, up you go,” he says, reactivating Hound’s blocked nerves. “This should fix it.” 

Hound sits up, wincing as he pulls at the fresh weld. It’s not a huge wound, but it’s large enough to be annoying.

“Thanks, Aid,” he says, cheerfully. “I owe you one.”

First Aid opens his mouth to respond, but Ratchet cuts him off. 

“What you owe us-“ he says with a stern brow, “Is a day of not having to repair your dumb-aft.”

Hound laughs, deep and heavy.

“Sorry,” he chuckles. “The twins really wanted to spar and things got a little... out of hand. You know how they are.”

Ratchet raises his eyebrows.

“Annoying?”

“Ratchet,” First Aid admonishes.

“I’m just saying,” says Ratchet, hands up. “Between the twins and your own bad luck, I’m surprised you’re still in one piece.” 

“They play rough, but really, it’s fine,” assures Hound. “I can take it.”

Ratchet only smiles and shakes his head.

First Aid looks down at the fresh weld lines and furrows his brow in concern.

“Just be careful with that wound. You’re going on the energon raid tomorrow.”

“I will,” Hound says, trying his best to be comforting. “Besides, Raj is coming too. I’ll be fine.”

“Really?” First Aid asks mildly, wiping the energon from his hands. “I didn’t know Mirage was back yet.” 

Ratchet gets up from the chair and heads to one of the cabinets, grabbing a cube of Medical grade.

“He came in for the check up before your shift,” he says, tossing the cube to Hound.  “Drink this. It’ll help the self-repair.” 

Hounds gives a lazy salute.

“You got it Ratch,” he chuckles. “But, yeah. Raj said he wanted a break from the usual song and dance. He was at the Decepticon base the other day, and apparently there’s literally nothing going on there, so Jazz let him off the hook for a week.” 

First Aid nods as Ratchet hands Hound a datapad.

“Follow the wound dressing instructions,” he says seriously. “I know it’s just a little gash but, well, I’d prefer if you didn’t get Energon poisoning because of a little friendly fire.”

Hound takes the datapad and shoves it into his subspace.

“Whatever you say, Sire,” he says sarcastically.

Ratchet shoves him playfully, careful to mind Hound’s still-warm welds.

“Alright, out,” he says with a laugh. “No loitering in the medbay.”

Hound gets up to leave, but stays a second longer to clasp First Aid’s shoulder, giving him a warm smile.

“Don’t work too hard, Aid.”

First Aid merely nods politely.

Hound walks out of the Medbay, door sliding shut behind him. First Aid waits for his heavy pedesteps to fade down the hall before turning to Ratchet, who busies himself with inventory sheets.

He grinds his denta. 

“Ratchet-“

Ratchet glances up. 

“I know what I’m doing,” First Aid says, voice clipped. “You don’t need to stand over my shoulder like that.”

Ratchets levels First Aid with one of his signature looks.

First Aid tries not to wilt under it.

“You were getting flustered,” states Ratchet plainly. “You needed instruction.”

“It would have been fine had you not been doing backseat surgery,” grumbles First Aid.

“You almost welded a mech with an unclamped line,” he says. “Had I not said anything, he would have bled out internally and we would have been left with a very dead Hound.”

First Aid looks down, ashamed.

“Not everything is about creating new fancy medical procedures,” stresses Ratchet, laying a servo on First Aid’s shoulder. “The little acts of medicine are just as important, and they can be just as fatal.”

First Aid, bursting with frustration, tears his shoulder away.

“You kept breaking my concentration!” he says, voiced raised to a slightly inappropriate degree.

“That’s the point,” Ratchet says. “You need to learn to cope with distraction. We’re in the middle of a battlefield, Aid. This isn’t Delphi.”

First Aid flinches.

“I know,” he mutters. “I know.”

The air between them becomes thick at the mention of the outpost. First Aid looks away, pointedly ignoring the hands holding the inventory sheets just a few feet away.

Ratchet pretends not to notice.

“You aren’t CMO just yet,” Ratchet says, pushing an inventory box under the table with his pede. “Until then, you listen to an old mech’s, how did you put it-“

Ratchet makes quotation marks with a free hand. 

“-backseat surgery.”

 He grabs his abandoned datapad and heads for the door.

“Have fun with inventory, Aid. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The door clicks shut, echoing in the quiet of the medbay. First Aid takes a moment to look at the boxes of unsorted medical supplies stacked haphazardly on the floor.

He clenches his fists.

 

————————

 

Soundwave sighs.

He seems to be doing a lot of that lately.

“What do you want Screamer for?” Skywarp asks.

He and his trinemate are posed against the wall nonchalantly, pretending like they hadn’t just been gossiping very, very loudly.

“We’re putting together the world’s most annoying boy band,” Ravage says sarcastically. “What do you think we want him for?”

Soundwave pointedly nudges Ravage’s field in warning.

“Decepticon High Command: Has been called for emergency meeting,” Soundwave says, emotionless.

“Bummer,” says Thundercracker, completely relaxed. “He’s in our habsuite.”

Soundwave nods and they continue down the hall, the seekers resuming their mindless gossiping behind them.

“Why didn’t we just comm him and ask where he was?” Ravage asks once the two seekers are out of earshot.

“Starscream: Would lie,” says Soundwave. “Starscream: Hates being disturbed on short notice.”

Ravage snorts, frame shaking with laughter.

“The pretty little seeker needs his beauty sleep, does he?”

 _He’s had more than enough of that_ , Soundwave thinks.

Repressing that particular thought, he sends the base coordinates to Ravage.

“Ravage: Will go find the other four symbiotes and head to the location listed,” he says. “Soundwave: Will talk to Starscream alone.”

“You got it,” Ravage says. “I’ll tell them about the plan, and we can head back to the habsuite and grab our stuff before we go.”

“Negative.”

Ravage cocks his head.

“Carrier, our supplies-“

“-are not worth backtracking.” Soundwave finishes. “Soundwave: Will acquire more.”

Ravage only furrows his brow in confusion.

“It will take no time at all for us to-“

“Once Soundwave contacts Starscream, Cassete’s lives will be in his hands. Soundwave: does not trust that Starscream will not turn him in. Backtracking: Inadvisable.”

“Wh-“

“Ravage: Acknowledge order,” Soundwave says, voice strained.

Ravage bristles.

“Primus. Fine,” he huffs, conceding. 

He turns and heads down the hall, shoulders hunched. As he reaches the corner he stops, and turns around to face his Carrier.

“You will meet us there no matter how the deal goes down,” Ravage says.

It’s not a question. 

Soundwave nods rigidly.

Ravage waits a beat before walking forward, disappearing around the corner.

Soundwave intakes heavily.

He continues on down the hall, making his way to Starscream’s habsuite. As he comes within a few feet of the room, he stops at the door. He hesitates before knocking.

“Come in.” 

He opens the door to see Starscream sitting on one of three berths, holding a cube in one hand and a datapad in the other.

“Soundwave,” he says impatiently. “What do you want?”

Soundwave considers for a moment turning around and calling Ravage back. Telling him to forget everything. Letting Megatron blow up valuable resources and rationing whatever was left.

He mentally shakes himself. No backtracking. No cowardice.

“Soundwave: Has a proposition.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments give me good writing juice


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